"I am dressing, Kelly. I don't wish for any breakfast, and I'll come to the studio as soon as I can—"
"Take your breakfast first!"
"No, I really don't care for—"
"All right. Come ahead."
"I will. Good-bye, Kelly, dear."
He rang off, picked up the telephone again, called the great Hotel
Regina, and ordered breakfast sent to his studio immediately.
When Valerie arrived she found silver, crystal, and snowy linen awaiting her with chilled grapefruit, African melon, fragrant coffee, toast, and pigeon's eggs poached on Astrakan caviar.
"Oh, Louis!" she exclaimed, enraptured; "I don't deserve this—but it is perfectly dear of you—and I am hungry!… Good-morning," she added, shyly extending a fresh cool hand; "I am really none the worse for wear you see."
That was plain enough. In her fresh and youthful beauty the only sign of the night's unwisdom was in the scarcely perceptible violet tint under her thick lashes. Her skin was clear and white and dewy fresh, her dark eyes unwearied—her gracefully slender presence fairly fragrant with health and vigour.
She seated herself—offered to share with him in dumb appeal, urged him in delicious pantomime, and smiled encouragingly as he reluctantly found a chair beside her and divided the magnificent melon.